Thoughts

Give Me the News

I called a doctor.

I don't know what to do anymore.

I feel like a dry runner band being pulled two directions, just waiting for the wrong moment to snap.

And simply having made the call makes me feel emboldened, like I actually give a damn about myself enough to pick up the phone and talk to a human and admit I'm broken...but I only called in the midst of a panic attack, as an excuse to use sick time at work. And it feels so cheap, I feel cheap.

I have many plans, things I want to do that seem so impossible to me because of the way I think; I'm so humbled that I can't possibly see myself or my work being anything other than a passion project from a mildly autistic, bipolar-moron with a lot to say and no one to listen.

And to say that just seems awful; who says they are humbled and actually are? But I see myself as such: from a small town, taught by my parents that my writing would never become successful no matter what I did, and with the mentality that, when I started selling, I wouldn't be making any money at all (the latter of which is mostly true, for now).

My writing was never something I wanted to share with the world; I was content just sharing it with the people I knew, and I convinced myself at a young age that I could die happy being just a spark in the grand explosion.

But that's no way to live a life. Assuming that everything you do is absolutely pointless, worthless, or meaningless, gets you nowhere. And I crave to be able to share these stories with a wider audience, with the hopes that when I die, I won't be entirely forgotten, that it won't just be the people who knew me that remember me.

And maybe that's an inherently arrogant thing to wish upon myself, the barebone minimum of acknowledgement to the craft I've chosen to devote my time to since the age of four; perhaps it best I be content with what I have, and be happy that anyone has read anything I've written.

But that small sliver of hope, that small voice in the back of my head that says I won't end up unknown or forgotten, it speaks loudly.

And it tells me to write.